


Bring Them Back

by SassyGrape



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), rdr2 - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Comfort Food, Culture Shock, Friendship, Future, Gen, Modern Era, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-06 02:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyGrape/pseuds/SassyGrape
Summary: Devon Jenkins is just an ordinary girl, living on her own and doubting some of her life-choices when a bunch of cowboys disturb her frustration-time.What is she going to do with these men who don't belong to into this time and who obviously could use her help?





	1. Chapter I

There had not been many occasions on which she had felt so frustrated and so helpless. So dependent on others goodwill. She hated that feeling.   
And yet she stared at the letter in her hands, telling her that she had failed her seminar paper. If she had not worked for that thing at all she couldn't care less. But she had learned for weeks, noted everything down according to file card, had even called the patient from her work to get the last piece of available information. She had not wanted to lie on her seminar paper, so she had left out information she didn't know.   
And now, look at that. Failed because these things were missing. Because she had forgotten to print out a page – which was completely unnecessary because she had the data written down, but who cared for that? - and had hurried to do so, as well as fill it in and fax it.  
For what? 

So she did not pass that thing for one point? One single, fucking point? They could have given that point for writing skills, which were demanded, too. Or for accuracy in describing the wound-treatment. But instead there were notes what she could do better. And why a wound was treated the way it was. How would she know? She wasn't a doctor, she just had used the available information. She had even described that she would use another wound-dressing and given reasons. So why was that part wrong?

Angrily sniffing, she took another sip of nüwang, some sort of plum-wine. It was sweet and got her where she wanted to be faster and better than wodka or rum. 

“Fuck you”, she mumbled while opening the word document, named _Piece'o'shite_. Not exactly a high striving work title, but since she had not sent it via e-mail, it had done it's job. And now look at it – it was exactly according to name. A piece of shit.  
She had her headset on, new metal music played and drowned out the sound of her snuffling. Least thing she would need now was the sad voice of a sad person singing about sad things. Angry suited her better. 

The worst part was – aside from _not passing this fucking piece of paper_ \- that it was late at night and she could call nobody to share her misery. She was all alone in the house which her uncle had gifted her as his legacy. 

It was a nice place, though. A bit far off, surrounded by a forest, a pond nearby – it seemed rather a fairy tale house than a real one. But it had a working plumbing system and hot water and electricity so she had taken the house, no questions asked.   
Her gaze wandered out of window which was halfway covered by ivy. Maybe she should cut it so more sunlight could enter the room. But not today. Or, rather, tonight. 

Deeply sighing she read the letter again. How should she tell her boss? Because, she definitely had to. Of course she could correct her mistakes and send it in a second time and hope to pass it then.   
But her life had taken some strange turns lately and she did not know if she had the capacity to redo half of the paper. She drank some nüwang, sighing again. The only sound, it seemed, she was capable of right now.  
Her goal was to study medicine one day – with every year spent waiting it seemed farther away from her. Every year she applied to the nearest universities but her degree and her experience didn't seem to count for anything these days. It was frustrating. She refilled her glass. 

Luckily she was on holiday. Unfortunately this was her first day of holiday, so she could think three weeks about how she had failed that thing.   
_So much for holiday_ , she thought, reading through her paper, searching for the mistakes. It rather seemed she had to work for that and could not just chill for a week. Getting through the pages didn't help her mood at all. 

Grabbing for a halfway eaten bar of chocolate she decided to not do that now. Tomorrow was another day to worry. Tonight she would try to not think about it anymore.   
Emptying her glass she threw the letter onto her desk. “Fuck you.”

It was coldish outside, not cold enough for her warm coat but definitely not warm enough to go out without a jacket at all. Above her the sky was sprinkled with sparkling stars, a bright waning moon lit her path down to the pond. In her hand she held an old fashioned lantern, not because she had no flash light at home, but because she felt the need to get away from all modern stuff. Including her failed seminar paper. Mostly because of that.

Her glasses fogged due to her breathing into her scarf. She liked wearing it up over her nose.   
The shrubs around were merely dark shadows, something rustling through the undergrowth. On other occasions she probably would have felt some sort of discomfort, being alone out in the dark, but not tonight.   
She needed to be alone, to be unseen. There was comfort in the dark sky. In the cold light of the stars. In the calm of the forest. She had no desire to see or feel anything right now.   
The candle radiated a small eerie pool of light around her, causing shadows nearby to flicker wildly. Soft scrunching of the lamps hinge accompanied her.  
In her head she could almost hear the teacher read the letter out loud.

_Dear Ms. Jenkins,  
thank you for turning in your seminar paper. After careful perusal we unfortunately had to note that not all standards had been met. Due to that we have to inform you that the course assessment is not passed. You have the choice to..._

Clenching her fingers around the handle of the lamp she approached the small pond, sitting down onto a tree trunk. Silver moon light reflected on the still surface of the black water. Somewhere an owl hooted.

“Yes, thank you for your condolences”, she mumbled, sniffing again.   
She hated feeling this depressed and angry; and knowing it was only natural didn't make it any better. The owl hooted again, this time a dark shadow glided over the ground.   
_If my life would be just half as easy. Hunt, eat, sleep. Repeat._ The young woman put the lamp down and stared off into dark distance.

Suddenly something changed in the woods. Leaves were rustling loudly, it sounded as if animals fled from something in all directions, heavy thuds landing on the ground not far from her.   
Hastily she got up and grabbed her lamp. No need to take a risk. Although this was a quiet place with little to no crimes, one could never know. Especially since she lived here all on her own.


	2. Chapter II

She was halfway on the go when she heard muffled voices between the trees. Though, due to the lack of light she could not see whom they belonged to. But these were no voices she knew, by no means. 

“The hell happened?”

“Dunno. Fuck. My head hurts. _Mierda, eso había dolido_.”

“Anybody seen Hosea?”

The young woman figured there were more men than two, obviously. What did they do here in the middle of the night? Without a light at all? Where were they? Did she need to hide? Though they did not sound all too dangerous. Which, of course, did not mean a thing. 

“Look, there's a light!”

“Hello? Hey!”

 _Shit, they seen me_ , she thought, a slight panic raising in her chest. No way she would run to her house now, leading them the way there. Without further thought she lifted the lantern up and blew out the candle. 

“Hey? Who is there?”, another male voice called out. It seemed the woods were suddenly full of them. “We don't mean no harm!”

She just stood there, motionless in the dark, hoping for clouds to cover the moon so they would definitely not find her. But there were no clouds, it was a beautiful night. Goosebumps crawled up her arms as she heard rustling coming closer. 

With a thud somebody fell down close to her and lay still. Carefully she turned her head to see what kind of person had stumbled there. All she could see was white hair, a white shirt and dark trousers.  
What on earth did an elderly man do here, in the woods, in the middle of the night? 

Taking a deep breath, she put the lamp down and closed her eyes. After all, she was working as a doctors assistant, willing to help people as needed helping. And that man surely looked like he could use a hand to get up again. 

“Sir, are you quite all right?” Shaking her head over her own stupidity she went closer to the man who managed a small groan. His whole body-language spoke of pain. 

“Hey, Miss! You find an old man?”, another deep voice called through the woods, scaring up quite a few animals, some rabbits scurried past Jenkins around the pond to the other side.

She decided not to answer him. She did not trust most men these days – due to their own behaviour.  
Kneeling at the man's side she gently took his hand in hers, feeling his pulse. It was easily palpable, a strong one.  
“Sir, can you hear me?”

Another groan, then the man turned, all pale, a few scratches covering his face. “Wh-where am I? And who are you?”

“In the eastern part of the state of Texas”, she slowly said, helping that man sit up to breath more easily. “My name's Jenkins.” She held the man up with her right arm, grabbing for the lantern with her left. “You can sit alone?”

“Yes. Thank you, Miss.” He coughed a bit, then managed to smile gently at the young woman. She lit the candle.  
Holding her right index finger in front of the man's face, she stared into his eyes. His pupils were normally dilated.

“Follow my finger with your eyes.” She moved her hand from side to side, slowly, watching him. He did as told. “Good.” 

“Hosea! Are ya there?”

“Look, the light's on again.”

She heard heavy steps approaching them. But the man still needed to go see a doctor in her opinion, she could not leave him here. “Sir, do you know these men searching for you? Are you on the run?”

“Oh, no, Miss. Geesh, they must frighten you.” Slowly he got up again, stood with his hands on his back and groaned. “Boys, I'm fine.”

“Jesus, took you long enough to respond.”

Just then some men stumbled onto the small clearing at the pond, towering above her, their faces not lit by her candle. It was like a scene from a horror movie and suddenly she was well aware that she was in the forest, alone, nothing but her lantern with her, surrounded by strangers; men who seemed from their silhouette alone to be able to strangle her with one hand.

 _Fuck my life, then_ , she thought, staring at the men. One of them went closer to the older one, who seemed to be that Hosea.  
His face was edged but kind of winsome. Worrying he looked at the silver haired man, who managed to stand straighter by the minute.

“Hosea, damn, you scared me, old man.”

“Talk to me 'bout old”, Hosea managed to grin. “At least I get a maiden to save me.” He gestured towards Jenkins who still stood petrified, still not feeling safe at all.  
In her head she thought about some alternate routes to her house and at which point she could just blow out the candle again without needing to worry about losing her way. In total she had four options in mind, although two of them included wading through cold water.


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stressed out even more, it turns out Devon tends to meet questionable decisions. But maybe that is what she needs to figure what she wants to do with her life.

“Thank you, Miss, for saving my friend”, the man turned to face the young woman, who put up the courage to lift up the lamp to get a better look on his face. The light of the candle flickered in his eyes, they seemed to be of a greenish blue, caring and curious. “And sorry... for the trouble.”

She eyed him carefully before lowering the lamp again, nodding towards Hosea. “It's okay. You should go see a doctor, just in case, though. He seems confused regarding his surroundings.”

“Oh, he's not the only one bein' confused, Miss”, another one chimed in, coming closer, stopping at the other man's side. His black hair shimmered in the moon light. “None of us know where we are.”

“How do you... excuse me?” Her gaze wandered from one man to the other.

“It's a bit complicated, I'm afraid.” Hosea sighed and smiled at Jenkins, the tiniest smile she'd ever seen. “Miss, not to be pushy, but my old bones are no match for the cold. Do you know where we can rest tonight?”

Jenkins stared at the men. They did really not know where they were. The next hostel was at least an hour away – going by car. There was literally nothing within walking-distance. “I'm afraid there is no... no hostel or hotel.”

“Nothing? Where the hell are we?”

“Marston, you fucking idiot. Why did ya have to play with that statue?”

The small but intense tumult stopped almost immediately when Hosea waved the men off. “Stop it, boys. What's done, is done. No need to scare the Miss off.” He gave Jenkins an apologetically smile. “I have to apologize for that coarse lot. They don't mean no harm, they're just ill-mannered.”

“Excuse me, but... how did you get into these woods?”, she dared asking, very well aware it was indiscreet. But how would these guys end up in this forest without knowing how it had come so? How did they not know their way back? None of them? “This is far from any road.”

“Well, Miss Jenkins, you see, that is the point. None of us know that for sure”, Hosea started talking, stepping beside her. “If you don't mind, can you show us the way to the next village?”

Now this was odd. In every possible way. She knew she was not responsible for these men, but they at least seemed to be peaceful and not out to rape or murder her. But then again, one did never really know for sure, right?

But that old man needed to see a doctor, he had hit his head for sure.  
And it was really cold.  
And the next village was quite far away, they'd walk at least two hours. None of these men was dressed so that they would not freeze to death in that time. No, walking was out of question. 

With a final sigh she lifted the lamp again to look into Hosea's face.  
“I cannot show you. It's too far to walk, especially since you don't wear jackets.”

“Jesus, we're in the middle of nowhere. Marston, I swear, if we ever gonna get outta this, I'll-”

“What'chu gon' do, Morgan? It ain't my fault and you know that.”

Jenkins looked at the men arguing and tried to figure if she should lead them to the road leading to her house and call a taxi or an uber.  
But somehow she had the impression that this would not help them at all. They had no idea where they were – getting driven to a place they didn't know either made no sense at all.

But was it safe to invite them to at least warm themselves up with a cup of tea?  
Was it?  
Did she really want to do that?  
Or was her frustration that bad that she just needed people to tell her that she was good at something? And if it only was being nice.

_What harm can it do, really? I'm fucked anyway_ , she decided. No risk, no fun. Get that compliment or die trying.  
Clearing her throat she awkwardly looked at Hosea. “I- well, I live nearby. If you want to warm yourselves, you're welcome.”

“Oh, Miss, that's too kind”, he said, glancing at his – what were they? Friends? Companions? Sons? “But I am sure it is not appropriate to presume on your good nature.”

“Don't mention it. You'd freeze out here. Come now.” With that, Jenkins led the way, a trail of men behind her, following the ghostly light of her candle. _Good nature. He has no idea._  
Somehow she felt like a mother duck, her ducklings close behind her, chattering and all excited. Because that was how the men behaved, their spirits clearly rising and talking to each other in low, a bit more cheerful voices.

Arriving in her big, overgrown garden, Jenkins fumbled for her keys.  
She already loved that place. Everywhere were shrubs, during day bees filled the air with buzzing, sweet smelling flowers grew at every corner and in between. Ivy seemed to overtake the house itself, growing up to the roof and partly over it.

There were even two rambling roses taking over almost a whole wall, except for parts of the windows. They emitted an infatuating scent, bewitching with their pink and apricot blossoms.   
It was wonderful.

“That's ya place?”, one of the men behind her asked, clearly stunned. 

“It's a legacy. And yes, that's my place.” She opened the door and turned on the light. The small hallway was framed with potted and hanging plants, everywhere in this white painted room was something green. “Please, take off your shoes before you enter. And be careful, don't stumble over the plants.”

Muttering the men followed her in, taking off their shoes at the door – soon there was a pile of jumbled leather boots, only assignable by size. They crammed the small hallway and for a second Jenkins feared the house would just burst. But of course it did not.

“That's quite a nice place you got, Miss”, Hosea commented, following the young woman into the spacey kitchen. He noticed the many different herbs, their pots being crammed on the two windowsills, the spider plants hanging from the ceiling, the smell of coffee in the air. “It's quite a place.”

Jenkins heard the men talk in the hallway, they did not sound very pleased. She turned around to Hosea, noticing his glance over to the herbs.   
“Thank you. How about some tea for you and your...?”

“Oh, they are my family.”

“Quite a big family you have there.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Miss. They are not my family by blood. We... it's more like a family by choice”, he said, fondness sneaking on his voice. He scratched his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. “Tea sounds just lovely.”

She grabbed one of her bigger enamel pots and put it on the stove. If she was not mistaken, there had been seven men, counting Hosea in. One and a half litres would not be enough. She filled the pot with water.  
“So, you and your family by choice, how did you get into the woods?”

“I fear, as I told you, we don't know for sure. Maybe John can tell you more about it, maybe not.”

“Who's John?” Jenkins opened the drawer with dried herbs. “Herbal or fruit tea?”

When Hosea did not answer, the woman turned to ask him again – but he was no longer in the kitchen with her. Instead, she could hear him scold the men. What had they been doing?   
Without caring much for the tea, Jenkins grabbed her biggest ladle. Almost marching she crossed the kitchen, out into the hallway, ready to defend herself – when she found some of the men were sitting on the stairs, others had made their way into her living room, staring at her interior.

“Woha, Miss, no need to take us all out”, a man with shoulder long dark brown hair said, halfway smirking, but still serious enough. He lifted his hands up. “We don't mean to...”

“Who are you?”, Jenkins demanded to know.


	4. Chapter IV

“Uh, we're...”

“No. What's your name.” _Damn, I can't even articulate myself in stressful situations. How in the hell do I think I could handle a life-or-death-surgery?_

“My name?”

“No, the name of your cat.” Jenkins stopped, but too late. This was by no means a time to be sarcastic. But here she was, living the life. “Of course your name.”

“John, don't anger our host, would you be so kind?”, Hosea called over from the living room.

“I'm John.” He paused, thinking. “John Marston. Nice to meet ya.” He held out his hand, which was big and dirty.

“Hi John.” Lowering the ladle Jenkins tentatively took his hand, giving it a firm shake. She would not be such a person who was disgusted by a bit of dirt. After all, they had been stumbling through the woods. “My pleasure.” She took a look around but was still a bit overwhelmed by the fact that she had led completely strangers into her house. A group of grown ass men. A group of confused, ill-mannered and dirty grown ass men. Had she even been thinking for the past thirty minutes? 

She let go of his hand, allowing a small smile. Since she had led them to her home, she might as well be friendly.   
“Please, sit in the living room. Feel free to read.”

“What about you, Miss?”, the man with the kind eyes wanted to know, the one who had arrived at her firstly – right after Hosea, but that one had been falling into her way. 

“I'll be preparing tea.”

“Need some help?”, he offered. 

“With tea?”, she smirked but waved the ladle towards the kitchen. “Sure, why not?” While walking ahead, Jenkins had to restrain herself from shaking her head.

Back in the kitchen, the man immediately went towards the herbs, giving them a closer look. Observing him, she decided to serve them some herbal tea and took angelica, sage, rosemary and cohosh. 

“How do they grow so healthy?”, the man wondered, rather to himself, still staring at the red basil, rosemary, mint and thyme. 

“They get a lotta sunlight”, Jenkins said while putting the dried herbs in an old fashioned tea strainer. As long as the water didn't boil there was no need to already infuse it. She went over to the man. “Wanna try some? It's all edible.”

“Oh, uh... that's a lovely offer.” He harrumphed, but before he could decline, Jenkins picked off two leaves of the red basil, offering one to the man.

“See? It's just plain basil. In red.” Having said that, she put the leaf into her mouth, chewing it. To be honest, she rather liked to eat her herbs from time to time. Just for the intense taste.   
She watched him nibbling on the small leaf.

Suddenly giggles emerged from the living room.   
“Read another one, Hosea!”

“This is ridiculous.” Hosea laughed, then coughed. “We're in a room full of marvellous books and I'm reading jokes to you.”

“Read another one!”, the mob demanded.

“ _A wife calls her mother: Today I fought so much with my husband – I'm coming to live with you again. The mother is enraged: No, he needs to pay for his mistakes; I'm coming to live with you._ ”

Hysterical laughters followed that one and even Jenkins couldn't restrain a smug grin. So they had found one of her three joke-collections. Humour was always a good choice.

The man at her side chuckled, then bit his lip. “I'm sorry. We're no good company for a Lady.”

“Oh, don't you worry about that. I choose to invite you.” She went back to the pot, the water was finally boiling. Throwing in the tea strainer, she furrowed her brows. “What's your name, Sir?”

“It's Arthur Morgan. And yours?”

“Jenkins.”

“Just Jenkins?”

“Well, it's Devon Jenkins. But my friends call me Jenkins.” She shrugged her shoulders, putting the pot onto a cold hotplate, covering it with its lid. “If you want we can go to the others.”

“What about the tea?” He seemed a bit confused.

“Almost done, it only needs to steep.” She led the way to the door. “Now, come on. Did you really think I'd need help with tea?”

“But-”

“Mr. Morgan, thank you for your company.” Jenkins almost shooed him out of the kitchen into the living room.


	5. Chapter V

The living room was dominated by the old fashioned fireplace and the two big, stuffed book shelves made from dark walnut. They held not only books, but also plants and lose papers, folders and a globe. 

Due to the fact that Jenkins did have to buy a lot of stuff in order to move into this house – washing machine, cosy sofas, pillows, refrigerator – there had been no money left to get a TV. Or a new stove, so she'd kept the old one. That thing was just ungodly old and a true historical kitchen stove.

But soon she would have saved enough money to get a small TV.  
Before she had moved out, she had lived with her father – of course he had kept everything in his flat. Though, Jenkins could understand him. Why should he suffer boredom when she had decided to live in that big Victorian house on her own? 

But the men in her living room did not seem to miss something, they were perfectly content reading jokes and go through the bookshelves.

“That globe feels... strange”, a tall, beefy man mentioned, his hands turning the thing of his interest around, studying it. “It's not heavy like wood.”

“That's because it's made of plastic.” The young woman went to her record player, which stood on a small table in the corner of the room. And on that table, of course, were some plants. A snake plant and a peace lily were used as braces for the vinyl group. 

“What the hell's plastic?”, the man asked, softly tapping against the globe. It sounded hollow. 

While searching for her favourite Kansas album, she didn't turn around. “Plastic is a-” Jenkins furrowed her brows. How did they not know what plastic was? Was that some kind of joke? “You don't know what plastic is?”

“Never heard o' that.” The man turned to face her. He had a receding hairline but a rather presentable beard. 

“Never?” 

Now even the other men were silent, following the conversation. The good mood had vanished in an instant. Hosea sighed and turned, still halfway sunken in the violet armchair. 

“Miss Jenkins... may I ask a question?”

“Yes. I mean, no. No. I will ask a question and then you can ask yours.” Although she knew that these were in no way good manners, she could not stop herself from saying that.  
Who were these men, causing a ruckus in a forest they had never been to before, not knowing what plastic was and – her thoughts stopped right at that moment as she saw that some of the men were carrying arms. 

Suddenly Jenkins wasn't so sure anymore if they really did not pose a threat. They had weapons and they were in her house.  
And she was bitchin' it up.  
Jenkins felt a lump building up in her throat. This was abysmal. 

_So much for Fuck My Life_ , she thought. _Self fulfilling prophecy ahead. It's my own damn fault for leading them here. If I get shot it's my own bloody fault. Fuck._

“And what is your question?” Hosea knew she had noticed, but he seemed keen on not sounding too dangerous. There was no trace of intimidation on in his voice. 

Getting a hold on herself – which was a rather difficult thing – the young woman managed to not scream and run off. No way she would flee out of her own house. After all she was a dauntless southern girl who lived in the woods.  
“Who are y'all?”

Never in her life had Jenkins regretted a question more than this one. All of a sudden she knew it had been the wrong one to ask. She should have asked where they were from. 

“I don't want to sound rude – but may I answer your question with a counter-question?” 

“Sure.” She moved her hands in a rather giving-up-way. 

“As I said, you have quite a nice place here. But I have to add, it's quite odd”, Hosea started, taking a long look around, his eyes resting on her old fashioned floor lamp. “Rather curious. Now, Miss Jenkins, my question is: Which year is it?”

Her jaw dropping, Jenkins stared at Hosea.  
Her gaze wandered from man to man in the room.  
They stared back at her.

In that moment she realized a few things.  
First, she was not the only one almost having a hysterical fit.  
Second, these men were utterly at _her_ mercy.  
Third, they did really not know where they were. 

Fourth, they may all be crazy.  
Jenkins included.


	6. Chapter VI

But what if she was not crazy and neither were they?  
Jenkins allowed herself to be shocked for exactly three seconds, then she found her composure again.

“In case you're not pullin' a prank on me-”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don't know, for sports?”

“Please, rest assured I would never hoax a friendly person like you.”

“Well... in that case...” Still she somehow felt hesitant about telling him. Why did none of his sons by choice know the year? But if she asked why that was, she would only get an evasive answer. 

Sighing, Jenkins let her gaze glide over the group of men again. 

“It's 2019.”

The men just stared at her, some rather disbelieving, others shocked. Hosea seemed oddly calm, though his hand covering his mouth kind of gave him away. 

“E-excuse me, what?”

“Did I... did ya jus' say 2019??”

“ _Eso es imposible. Realmente no fuimos al futuro._ ”

“I can't believe-”

“Gentlemen, please calm down.” Hosea got up from the arm chair, his voice stern but reassuring. 

“I'll leave you to it”, Jenkins decided and left the living room, almost fleeing into the kitchen. There she removed the tea strainer and put the ladle into the pot. 

She carried the pot into the dining room. Though, it was barely used as such. Bills, letters, her laptop and notes littered all over the wooden table, the chairs served additional storage room for books or folders.  
The little space on the table that wasn't occupied was now the spot on which she put the pot. 

Silently cursing herself for being such a messy person, she just gathered all the paper stuff and crammed it into the almost overfilled box, which stood abandoned in the far off corner of the room.  
Nothing better than a clean and tidy surrounding.  
Jenkins sighed. 

Nothing in this house was ever clean and tidy.  
At least not overly tidy.  
Well, other homes were not cluttered, her's had great air due to the many plants everywhere. 

Gathering some cups in the kitchen, Jenkins could hear the men argue about something, probably still about being in 2019.  
While her mind was occupied with the fact that they were armed.  
And clearly not right in their heads. 

“Miss Jenkins!”

Taking in a deep breath, she put the cups onto the table and went through the hallway into the living room.

“Is there a problem?”, she asked, standing in the door.

“Plenty.” Hosea turned to face her. “But it first things first.”

“Okay.”

“We search for a clay figure, it's circa 10 inches small. It has human form and holds a scythe.” Hosea cleared his throat. “It may be a relic.”

_A relic? They are searching for a relic? Do I look like Lara Croft?_ , Jenkins thought, crossing her arms, eyeing the older man in front of her. “A relic?”

“Well, it's hard to explain...”

But before the man could go on, Jenkins waved him off. 

“The tea's ready. Come. You need to get yourselves warm while we discuss your hard to explain experience.”

To be honest she had no intention to hear bewildering stories while standing. She wanted to sit, able to look each and everyone of them into the face to judge their expressions. 

Not that she was blessed with being an expert in knowing people, but she could tell the basic feelings apart.

So she led the herd of men into her – now a bit tidier – dining room. They followed, gawking at the healthy vanilla plant, the white pot-rose and the other, bigger plants – mostly rubber plants and different sorts of dracenas.

“Please, sit.”

Luckily her uncle had had many friends whom he used to invite – there was no shortage of chairs in this house.   
Because Jenkins had never thrown them out.

Slowly they sat down and now, in the warm light of her rustic style rope ceiling lamp she could finally check out their faces. 

All of them seemed rather exhausted and tired, dark circles under their eyes. Though big and strong and armed – in the light they did not seem to be able to cause too much trouble now.  
Their minds were occupied with something else than robbery or murder.   
All of them sat slouched, except Hosea. 

Filling up the cups with tea, Jenkins wondered what they were going to tell her.   
She hoped it would be something like _We managed to escape from a mental institution and are now on the loose. But we learned that there is no free food out here, so we wanna go back._

But Jenkins was quite sure it wouldn't be something like that.

Not at all.


	7. Chapter VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Google it!

After she sat down, too, she took a sip of the tea. It was a tad stale to her taste, but then again she liked her tea strong.

“Well, Miss Jenkins, thank you for the tea”, Hosea stated and nodded towards the young woman. She nodded back. “And to come back to what I-”

“Excuse me, Hosea, but I have to stop you right there”, Jenkins interrupted, earning shocked glances from the men. 

_Uhh, who am I to cut in on a man who is talking. Gross impertinence._  
Jenkins put her cup down. 

“Not to sound rude, but before we continue with your … clay figurine or whatever, I'd like to know your names”, she said, though still aware of her situation and ready to run she felt tiredness creeping up on her. 

Remembering names was not one of her strong abilities. But since they were not many, there was a high chance of keeping the names in mind.  
She already knew Hosea, John Marston and Arthur Morgan. The man who had checked out her globe was Bill Williamson.  
Then there was a Mexican named Javier Escuella, a native-black man called Charles Smith and a black younger man going by Lenny Summers. 

They sat and stared at her, sipping their tea. Each and every eye looked expectantly at her. 

And while she knew that they deserved the opportunity to speak, to ask her, all she could think about was her seminar paper and how she'd failed that and all the work awaiting her.  
It wasn't their fault, but Jenkins could not need any distractions now.

“Miss, you seem troubled.” Hosea leaned closer to her.

She snapped out of her thoughts, her eyes shot at the older man, tentatively smiling at him. “This situation is a bit strange, don't you think?”

“Strange is a good word indeed.”

“And it's also strange that you all are armed.” Before she could stop herself, she'd already said it. Her voice calmer than she actually was. 

Regret hit her hard as she saw the faces of the men harden, still lowering their eyes. What if they just shot her now and kept living in her house?

But then again, she had a job and people would miss her. 

“Strange? Nah, it's strange yer not armed, Miss”, Bill finally said, his fingers tapping the metal of his gun. 

“I don't need a gun here. What do you use 'em for?”

“Ro-”

“Shut up, John.”

“Why should I shut up?”, John asked, voice rising in suppressed anger. 

“Because you were about to scare her, you fool”, Arthur scolded the other man, rolling his eyes. Sighing deeply he crossed his arms in front of his broad chest.

Jenkins took a sip of her tea, then put the big cup down onto the table, holding onto it. “I'm quite aware he was gon' say _robbery_. Don't be mistaken. I just...”

“Miss, we're not here to rob you, rest assured”, Hosea chimed in. “And, if you allow me to be bold, we much rather hoped you would grant us shelter for tonight. You see, my old bones aren't what they used to be. Unlike this young folk here, I'm not keen on sleeping in cold weather.”

“G-give you – sorry, what?”

Though, she should really not act that surprised. She had almost known that it would come like this. Being honest, where could these men go in the middle of the night? If they didn't want to freeze they needed to stay right here, in this house. 

“Shelter, Miss.”

An hour later the men were seated in her living room again while Jenkins had grabbed her laptop to look stuff up.  
Different things went through her mind. What to do first? Caring about the seminar paper suddenly didn't seem so important anymore. What to search for now? Their names? Though, would there really be any interesting information? Who knew.

Sipping on her tea, Jenkins crossed her legs on the chair and opened Google. Her fingers rested on the keyboard, restlessly tapping on the keys but not actually typing. Her mind was full of questions and she was tensely listening to the sounds coming from her living room.  
Silent laughters, muffled conversation.  
Ordinary sounds from not so ordinary people.

Sighing she turned to look at the empty, demanding Google-Page again. _Ask me and I shall answer_. But did she _want_ to know the answer?  
Licking her lips, she started typing. 

_Clay figurine_

The first results were from etsy, trying to sell figures in all shapes and sizes to her. Not interesting in that case. Also, she always thought these dolls as creepy.  
More interesting was a wikipedia-article about Huishan clay figurines. Apparently these are crafted in China by a folk called Wuxi, originating from the Ming-Dynasty about 400 years ago.  
Interesting or not? Important to this situation or not?  
She furrowed her brows and closed wikipedia again. 

For a few minutes she clicked through the results. Japanese craft, museum articles, different expositions all over the world, pictures of ugly figures.  
Jenkins definitely needed more input from Hosea in order to find the right one. Which would be hard enough, she guessed.

She got up and stretched herself. Her joints creaked and she yawned. A quick glance on the clock told her that it was way past bedtime and she should get her life together.  
Slowly Jenkins strolled to her living room, leaning into the doorframe. 

The men had not noticed her, they sat in a semi-circle and talked in low voices about matters she did not understand – given the little context she had.  
She cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” 

Seven sleep-deprived faces looked up to her.

“I was wondering what that clay figurine looked like”, Jenkins said.

“John?” Hosea looked over to the man. Suddenly he seemed older and worn out, his eyes tired and troubled – like he had worn a mask for the last two hours in order to appear unfazed. 

“'t was made of clay”, John started. 

_Is he being serious?_ , Jenkins wondered, blinking unsure if he was pulling a joke on her. “I... I know that.”

“Not big.”

“Do me a favour and come with me.” She went back to the kitchen. His grumbling was quite audible but Jenkins decided to ignore that.  
They were the ones with the weird stuff happening. She was just a mere bystander, although she already got dragged into that mess.

Back in the dining room she sat down again, turning her laptop so John could take a look at the screen. Slowly he had followed her, now the man stood in the doorframe, staring at the laptop. 

“What's that?” He pointed at the device. 

“It's a laptop.”

“What's it do?”

“Whatever I want. Sit.”

Jenkins waited until John was seated at her side, then she cleared the search bar. 

“Describe the figure as detailed as ya can, okay? Colour, shape, size, broken, anything, really”, she asked, then stared at the man, who seemed to be rather suspicious of the laptop. 

“It's old and... shaped like a woman, I guess.” His brows furrowed as he tried to remember any other details. “Though, the underarms were missin'. And it had no eyes. I dunno, 'bout 10 inches, holdin' a scythe.”

“I think that should work.” Shrugging her shoulders, Jenkins started typing again, her fingers rushing over the keyboard, followed by clicking sounds. 

John stared at the scene, the text magically appearing on the screen, words forming out of nowhere.  
He gasped, eyes wide.

“How're ya doin' that?!”

“What?”

“Th-that.” He pointed at the now filled search bar.

“The writing?” Just then Jenkins remembered that these guys also didn't have any idea what plastic was. Where the hell did they come from? How could he not know what a laptop was or how it worked?

“Yes. That.” John still seemed a bit overwhelmed, his mouth agape.

“I write on the keyboard, it sends the words into the system”, she shortly explained, then checked again what she'd written.

_Female clay figure scythe_

“That's...” He looked around as if to check nobody was listening. “That's magic.”

“No”, Jenkins laughed. “It's technology.”

She pressed _enter_.

Google spat out quite some results, mostly pinterest, etsy and sculpting classes. Nothing noteworthy.  


But John seemed rather surprised by all the text appearing on screen, all the possibilies, magically appearing, and everything about female clay figures! He gasped but dared to get closer to not miss a thing. 

Jenkins decided it'd be easier if they were only going for pictures instead.


	8. Chapter VIII

Although still suspicious about this _technology_ , John moved a tad closer to get a better look at the now loading images. His nostrils widened in a deeper breath, seeing all the results.

“You recognize anything?” Slowly Jenkins scrolled down, row after row, only earning some head-shakes from John. She knew that the deeper you had to dig, the more unlikely it was to actually find something useful. 

“There's so many of 'em.” John silently gulped, then cleared his throat.

“Don't worry, we'll find it. This isn't the only way to find lost things”, the young woman smiled confidently. There was still a library in the next town and four hours down south was a History Museum. Somewhere you'd get some information about it.

“Are ya sure? 'cause I do- wait. That's it.” He rammed his finger right onto the screen, earning a shocked gasp from her.  
She didn't want a big black spot! 

“Careful! Technology is a pussy!”

“A _what_?!”

“It's very sensitive. Ya cannot just hammer your finger onto it.” Jenkins closed her eyes to calm herself down. Still it was almost physically painful to see. It wasn't his fault he didn't know about this stuff, apparently. 

“S-sorry. Is it broken?” 

She had to admit, this John-guy was a master of the puppy-expression. He looked sorry and sad and remorseful. Who could be mad at such a face?  
Jenkins couldn't. 

“No, it's not. Which picture is it?”

“This one.” Careful now, he put his finger on the screen.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

So Jenkins clicked on the link, opening the website of a museum – which was not all too far from her place. If six hours counted as not far.  
The image of the clay figure with the scythe was attached to an article, which was only a week old.

“Jackpot, motherfucker”, she mumbled and zoomed in on the text.

_Austin – The Bullock Texas State History Museum is now host to a truly unique relic. The statue, which is roughly 4,000 years old, depicts a previously undiscovered deity. Hector Rivera, leading chairman of the Museum, states that they are thrilled to have the opportunity to share this spectacular trove with the public._  
_It is assumed that this deity is a sort of female reaper, considering the scythe it's holding.  
Mister Rivera welcomes all who are interested..._

“Bla bla bla”, Jenkins finished reading the opening and closing times. “Undiscovered deity. Do I look like Lara Croft?”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.” Softly shoving her glasses up, she rubbed her eyes then took another sip of her tea. “At least we found that figure.”

“Where's it?” John looked around, then back at Jenkins. “We... we haven't found it.”

“Well, according to that article it's in Austin, in a museum.”

“Is that far?”

“Yes.” 

They stared for a few seconds at the laptop-screen, then sighed.

A silent harrumph from the door startled the two sitting on the table. With eyes tired but at least with a lead they turned their heads.

“How's it goin'?” Arthur stepped in and stopped behind John's chair, staring at the laptop. “What's-”

“It's a laptop”, John said, wisely nodding. “It's magic.”

“It's technology”, Jenkins sighed. “We may have found it. Your clay figure seems to be in Austin.”

“That's good, I guess?” The tall man furrowed his brows quizically. 

“It's a start.”

“And how do we get there?”

“Well, not by foot.” Jenkins turned off the laptop and stood up. Yawning she stretched herself. 

“Wait! It's – why's it black?!” The panic in Johns voice was real and almost palpable.

“'cause I turned it off.”

“How then?”

The three stared at each other, each of them halfway talking about something else. It felt like a mexican stand-off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! I know this is a bit short, but I hope the following chapters make up for that!


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